Yes, Quite
by Seereth
Summary: Alex kind of really sucks at coping. Thom doesn't seem to want to help. [ThomxAlex, RogerxAlex slash]


Author's Note: Thanks to Kitty Ryan (and y'all should go read her stuff RIGHT NOW) and Hikki for the beta. And Kitty for the title too, because I couldn't think of one. Oh, and if you didn't catch this earlier, this is slash. So, uh, if that's not you cup of tea…well, see the back button?

Disclaimer: Not mine. Promise.

Yes, Quite

By Seereth

It has been two hours since Alanna of Trebond killed the Duke of Conté, revealing her true sex, and Alex is busy getting falling-down drunk. Tomorrow he will miss the funeral. Maybe next week he will be able to visit the catacombs and Roger's body.

            Someone has sent flowers, he wonders if it was Thom. Maybe it was Gary, but that's unlikely. The flowers are starting to annoy him. They are too bright, too big.

            He distracts himself by drinking some more wine, cup number…five. This wine has more memories attached to it than Alex should be able to remember. In true Tirragen fashion he's torturing himself with the wine and the memories. 

How many can you ignore Alex?

This one? 

The taste of Roger's lips when he's drunk enough of it?

Weakling. 

Those memories, he knows, will be running rampant tomorrow, so Alex is missing the funeral.

            Tomorrow, Delia will sweep in, delicately wrinkling her nose at him and the wine cups littering the room. Alex hasn't yet determined exactly what she will say, though he's willing to bet it will be something that makes him want to kill her or at least maim her more than he does already. Betting would be a bad idea right now. Oh, and so would moving, apparently. He'd _liked that glass too. It was one of the few that weren't a gift from someone. He'd picked the set out by himself, to prove that he had good taste._

            It occurs to Alex – as he pours himself a new glass (his seventh…maybe?) - that perhaps he should not be "drowning his sorrows". If his common sense wanted him to pay attention though, it should have spoken up a long time ago. Or maybe he should have listened a long time ago. Alex has an annoying idea that if he'd listened, or his common sense had been louder, he still would have Alan and Jon and Gary. Alex misses Gary. He misses them all.

            A knock at the door startles him, and he debates for a bit whether or not to answer it.  He _does stands, and tries to convince his body that it's not feeling the effects of too much alcohol, and that his feet are going to walk straight. Yes, that's right. _

            He makes it to the door before another knock sounds, and opens it, leaning against the doorframe as he tries to make his eyes focus. Red hair, violet eyes. A beard. Alan – _no_, Al_anna - didn't have a beard. So this must be Thom?_

"I see," says the sorcerer. "I do like being right, you know. I'll come back later." This makes very little sense to Alex, though that should hardly be surprising.

            "Um," he says, glares at Thom when he chuckles. Actually, Alex thinks it sounds more like a snicker. How inelegant of Trebond. Snickers. _Roger, Alex starts to think, and takes another sip of wine instead. "No, come in. The wine's good. And I shouldn't be drinking it." He takes another sip, summons up a wry, mocking smile from somewhere and says, "not alone, anyway."  _

            "People always find out," Thom murmurs, then shrugs. "You have another glass?"

            Alex nods, changes his mind and shakes his head. "Somewhere…?" He glances around. "There, see? The wine's…um…here. Yes, quite."

            Thom turns what might have been a laugh into a not very discreet cough and pours his own glass. He chooses one of Alex's chairs – silk-velvet cushioned with ebony inlays - regarding him with a very frank stare. Alex was too drunk to realize fully what it meant, but there was an inkling in the back of his mind. Somewhere.

            Thom, he notices, seems oddly disinclined towards speech, despite what Alex assumed when he'd shown up at the door.

            And then, everything fits. And Alex doesn't _want_ it to, because he doesn't like the way it's fitting. His lips shape the word, but he can't quite say it. "No." Nonononono. It won't come. Thom's gaze has shifted to his glass or his sleeve; it's not readily apparent where his eyes are focused. Of course, focused isn't quite the right word, is it? 

            "Waking up with sorcerers," Alex manages. 

            "What about it?" Thom is looking at him again.

            "I've decided it's generally a bad idea," Alex tells him. "Not the first time so much, but when it happens the second time, and that's the time when you're sober, you generally regret it."

            Thom's head is tilted to one side. "Did you?" he asks. "Regret waking up the second time?" he clarified at Alex's brief, blank look.

            Alex laughs, or maybe chokes. Probably laughs, laughing…no, well, maybe. It makes some bit of sense. "No…I don't think I did. How…bizarre." He laughs again and takes another sip. "Delia did," he adds after a moment. "Or maybe she didn't. Maybe I'm wrong about the whole thing."

            Thom nods. "And if you're right?" he asks with an intent, fierce expression. He's had more wine than Alex realized.

            "Well." Alex says, gaze locked with Thom's, "we'll just have to make sure there's no second time."


End file.
